Whiskey Remedies
by HornedGoddesses
Summary: Unfortunately for Godric, strawberry fields and hard liquor do not mix. Will Eric be able to ease his fears? Crack.
1. Fortress of UnSolitude

**A/N: This is a collaboration between two slightly obsessed fans, with a lot of bad jokes and too much time on their hands. Drug references abound, peppered with slash. If you are offended, click away in a dash. Also know we own nothing, and seriousness every word lacks. Brace yourselves for the sheer hilarity that is our unique brand of crack.**

_Italicized text _**by Mary**

Regular **by Ann**

On a cloudy, thunderstorm-infested night, Godric was busying himself by _hiding underneath a table while attempting to drown out the noise of said storm by playing his old Beatles records as loud as the record player would… well, play them. _The legs of the table were shaking like objects sitting in the midst of a thunderstorm and blasting Beatles music combined.

_Godric didn't notice. He was too preoccupied with _the pattern of the floor beneath him. It reminded him of Eric because _it was very symmetrical and predictable. _Godric drew an invisible outline of a Viking head on the tile with his finger, humming the chorus of "Strawberry Fields Forever," when suddenly the window on the far end of the room shattered.

_Godric's fangs snapped into place as he scooted backward, farther back underneath the table: whoever it was was going to have to come to him, because there was no way he was going anywhere near that storm._

Thunder rolled, drowning out the thump of footsteps as a pair of shoes bounced into Godric's line of sight ominously. _They were black shoes. Shiny. Possibly they could be a different color –the power had just went out, and even his night vision could be faulty._

Godric lowered the video camera from where it hovered in front of his face to double check his observations through his vampire eyes. _But then the camera slipped from his fingers, breaking into a billion pieces as it hit the floor. And he had no backups. __Damn__ he hated being clumsy!_

The mysteriously glimmery black shoes froze in the loud silence that followed the obliteration of the high tech recording device.

_Godric held his breath –then realized he didn't need to breath anyway. _

The mysterious wear-er of the mysteriously shimmery glimmery black shoes slowly bent down in front of Godric's Fortress of Solitude. _Yes, his __Fortress of Solitude__. He would have to tell Stan and Isabel of the table's name once the storm ended… if he got out of whatever this encounter would be ali –er, dead. _

The odds didn't look all that promising. In the 2,000 years Godric had unlived, he had yet to walk away from a single encounter alive. _He didn't think he'd be able to handle the anxiety this time around. He was, after all, very old, and such tension wasn't good for an ancient un-beating heart. _He'd better put the poor thing to rest before he got any deader because then the next time he happened upon a dying Viking he would have to tell them he was Death Squared. And they'd never want to be his companion.

_At least he still had Eric… didn't he? Godric was forgetting so many things these days. It was no wonder Stan and Isabel had to fetch his coffee for him. He couldn't even remember sometimes if he actually __drank__ coffee. _He rolled up his sleeve to count the inky squiggles on his upper arm. Last time he counted, there were seven lines. But he was afraid the storm might have washed off a couple.

_Goddammit! Was he going to actually lose his head next? Wait, he couldn't think that –at this rate, it might come true. And the black shoes –__shiny__ black shoes –were still there. _

Godric lifted his creaky head like a grandma sea turtle emerging from her shell. He imagined baby sea turtles tumbling toward the ocean on a sandy beach of wonder as he gazed up at the face of his newest opponent. _He couldn't remember if he'd snorted anything to help distract him from the thunder still crashing above his house, but if his thoughts were any indication…_

Maybe it was the Beatles music.

_No. The Fab Four could never be at fault for his own mindless… mindings. _It was probably the video camera. Technology had never agreed with him. _He shuddered at the thought of his Progeny's first car… Godric still had nightmares about that, and how many years had it been? _

He started to do the math in his head, but his brain was too full for the calculations to fit. Digits began to ooze out of his ears like The Bleeds, and Godric felt an immense sadness. _Here he was, sitting in a pile of broken technology and useless digits. He could really use a drink… and he was certainly old enough to legally become an alcoholic. The idea was certainly appealing… but the thunderstorm and the shoes were intimidating obstacles. _

How long had the shoes –shiny shoes –been waiting there anyway? 300 years? 500? Godric stared at his wrist because that's what the humans all did nowadays when they wanted to know time. He counted 57 pores and 6 hairs. _He figured that was long enough, and looked up._

"_Are you going to just stand there all night? You might as well bring me a bottle of the whiskey stocked beneath the bar in the parlor, to give yourself something to do." _

Eric, who had been the proud owner of the shiny black shoes for exactly two hours, eight minutes, and 17 seconds, peered underneath the table in wonderment. He had thought he felt Godric's presence, but the Beatles music (which required some sort of technology to be played) made him believe it might have been his other Maker instead.

_Godric brightened immensely. "Oh, it's you!" At least he could relax somewhat –with Eric there, everything would be 76.258% okay. Godric licked his lips nervously –it was the other…percentage that he couldn't figure out that was worrying him. "Could you kindly bring me that whiskey? I need it." He swallowed, looking at his child most imploringly. "I need __you__." _

The stock of whiskey was raided in the next instant. Eric grabbed a bottle in slow motion, thrilled to realize that he'd tripped some sort of burglary alarm in the process. He tore the husky, squawking red light into halves with his shoes, the picked up a random couch someone left lying around and pulverized the pieces. It looked like an atomic bomb went off. Probably no one would notice.

_Godric heard the alarm, but was too preoccupied –the everlasting thunder, coupled with Eric's lengthy absence (at least it seemed lengthy) was almost making him sweat. He needed that whiskey. And "Yellow Submarine" wasn't helping any. In fact, the Beatles were just making it worse._

Eric returned to the table. It hadn't moved. He folded himself up, and tried to enter Godric's Fortress origami style. It was cramped. His shoulders hit the roof. He felt like a gorilla. He held out the bottle of whiskey, "Here."

"_Thank you!" Godric wheezed, blood pooling in his eyes as he snatched the bottle and tore the plastic wrap off the neck. He tipped his head back and took two long, hard swallows, then scooted himself around until he was snuggling against his Progeny. "Much better." Thunder boomed overhead, and Godric flinched. "Maybe not."_

The sight of Godric consuming anything besides the hot, steamy blood of innocent Quaker grandmothers was just disturbing. Eric balked, "Are you high?"

"_No!" Godric squeaked. "How dare you accuse me of such a thing!" He closed his eyes and took another swig from the bottle, shuddering. "You know I can't stand thunderstorms," he muttered._

Eric shook his wet hair, "I almost got struck by lightning four times on the way here. Next time I'm taking a metal pole with me."

"_Don't do it," Godric advised. "Stan did that once, and it looked painful. I can't have that happened to you. I won't allow you to go anywhere where there's the faintest hint of lightning. I can't allow it." But then Godric realized he was babbling, and too another sip to quiet himself._

Eric raised his brow in challenge. "Would you command me not to?"

_Godric lifted his chin in retaliation; the gesture always seemed to intimidate Eric, though Godric had never been able to figure out why. Yet. "If the situation called for it." He hiccupped and felt himself almost blush. _

Thunder clapped the night sky on the back again, and Eric chuckled as he ensnared Godric in his long arms. The embrace had as much to do with comforting Godric as it did making sure he was steady. Eric bowed his head, resting his chin on his Maker's shoulder. "Well, I stand corrected. I used to think you could do anything, but it looks like you can't hold your liquor."

"_You thought I could do anything?" Blood welled in Godric's eyes again. "That's so sweet!" _

Eric smiled, "Yeah. You know me. Mr. Tender-Hearted."

_Godric nuzzled Eric's cheek with his nose. "That's why I made you." _

Eric hoped he remembered to shave. "Then you must have been pretty disappointed when I rose from the dead."

_Godric smiled fondly. "You learned quickly enough for me." _

Eric turned, pressing his lips against the side of Godric's face. It'd been at least a month since he'd last seen him, and, though he would never admit it out loud, he missed him. Then he remembered. "You know, I didn't come here for a social visit."

"_Really?" Godric couldn't keep the disappointment out of his voice. It was just too hard. He held his Progeny tighter and buried his face in his shoulder._

"Really." Eric reached into his pocket. He pulled out a wad of cash and dropped it in Godric's lap. "This is for you."

_Godric stared at the monetary papers in his lap, then looked back up at Eric. "Why? You're my child. You couldn't possibly owe me anything." _

"I assaulted the Sheriff of Area Six in Arkansas last week," Eric admitted. "That's my fine."

_Godric blinked. "Oh." He pocketed the money, then wrapped his arms around Eric in a hug. "Please tell me you'll stay the night." Thunder roared, and Godric flinched, cowering against Eric's chest. _

Eric ran his hands down Godric's back. "Of course I'll stay. What kind of Progeny would I be if I left you alone in your condition?"

_Godric attempted to smile… and failed. Miserably. "Thank you," he whispered, hoping he had spoken loud enough for Eric to hear him._

Eric frowned at the sudden drop of Godric's voice. He couldn't be happy if Godric wasn't. "That didn't sound very thankful."

"_Oh, it was," Godric murmured, taking another swig from the bottle and hiccupping. He licked the tip of Eric's nose playfully. _

Eric laughed (it was safe to laugh with Godric) and mussed his Maker's hair with his fingers. "I'll alert The Authority."

_Godric closed his eyes and sighed at the feeling of Eric's fingers running through his hair. "That would take too long. I would rather you stayed here with me." _

"I'll stay," Eric said again. He twisted his neck, and it cracked. "Just not underneath this table."

"_It seems perfectly sound to me," Godric countered. His eyes traveled the confines of the table, and suddenly he began to giggle. "Don't tell me it's not big enough for you. Please don't," he added, shaking with laughter now –and accidentally hit his head on the table leg. "Ow!"_

Eric made a hushed humming sound in half-hearted amusement. He was conflicted. Harm to his Maker was dire. "It just so happens it's nowhere near big enough for me. And now it's hurt you. It must die."

"_Oh, take pity on the poor thing, for I have also hurt it, it seems," Godric said, squinting at a scratch in the leg's paint as he rubbed the side of his head. He hiccupped again and burrowed his face in Eric's shoulder before he could harm the table again. "Take me somewhere safe, if you must," he muttered as thunder snarled again. _

Eric shifted –and then the sound of a heated argument reached his ears. He watched from underneath the table as a pair of pumps he thought he recognized from somewhere in Pam's closet strode into the room, closely followed by cowboy boots.

" –and what would I have to gain by stealing your whiskey, Stan?" Isabel demanded. "Please, do tell me –" And then her feet raced toward the shattered window. "Por Dios!"

"_Shit," Godric whispered in Eric's ear. "What are we going to do? I can't let them think I've been Sheriff-napped, but if they find out you're under here with me…" Godric shuddered, muffling a hiccup between his teeth. "As far as they know, my sex life is utterly nonexistent." He grinned and kissed Eric quickly on the lips. "You're tarnishing my reputation." _

"Then we won't let them find out," Eric whispered back, trailing a finger down Godric's arm. He used his badass flying vampire powers to hover above the ground, getting up close and personal with the underside of the tabletop. "Did you know someone stuck gum under here?" he hissed.

_Godric grimaced. "It's not mine. Stan switched off from chewing tobacco about five years ago, though," he whispered back. He clutched the bottle and Eric tighter. "I have my own addictions to worry about." _

"I hope you're not planning to give me up anytime soon," Eric murmured with a smile. He liked the implication of himself as one of Godric's addictions because he believed he had a spiritual connection with hallucinogenic mushrooms. Then he realized how quiet it was, and looked up to find that Isabel and Stan's shoes had vanished.

He noticed the pant leg in his peripheral vision a second too late. Godric's deputies overturned the table and attacked.

***The Beatles, Superman, coffee, and any other publicly recognizable pop culture phenomenons are referenced all in good fun, and completely their own. **

**"Reviews are love. Love is all." **


	2. Severely Threatening Behavior

**A/N: A thousand years their bond has been in the making. Will it be tested by severe table-breaking? Own nothing we do, this you already know. So let us release the captive Beetles, and go on with the show! (Yes, the misspelling-either way you look at it-was intentional and nonprofit.)**

_Italicized text_ **by Mary**

Regular **by Ann  
**

"_Don't touch him!" Godric screeched, throwing himself over Eric even though the size difference wasn't going to do him any good. Then his eyes filled with blood at the sight of what appeared to be black puzzle pieces littering the floor. "And look what you did to my Beatles records! Those were forty years old!" He glared up at Isabel and Stan. "How stupid __are__ you people?" _

"Yeah!" Eric seconded. "Idiots."

Isabel eyed the Beatles records, whiskey, and Viking the table had unveiled in shock. "I'm so sorry, Sheriff! We thought…we thought someone had…" she looked to Stan for help.

"…_abducted you," Stan grunted after staring at Eric for five minutes. _

"_You live in a house full of vampires!" Godric snapped. "Let alone the fact that they're our own kind, how could you immediately blame a broken window on __my__ disappearance?"_

"You weren't around," Isabel said, "and the only way a window could break without you knowing would be if…you weren't around."

"_Yeah," Stan muttered lamely._

"_Who says I didn't notice?" Godric retorted. "Am I expected to come running every time a window breaks around here?"_

"Yeah," Eric seconded a second time, "gods."

Isabel stared at him, then looked back at Godric. "And the window was his doing, I take it?"

_Eric looked all innocent. "Why me? Who's to say __he__ didn't do it-" he pointed at Stan "-and then ran back and faked anxiety when you discovered it was broken?"_

"_It is possible," Godric agreed, stroking Eric's hair. "Eric's only a little boy after all." _

Stan glared, and Eric proceeded to show him the surface of his muscular tongue.

"I'll break your face," Stan threatened.

_Godric stood in front of Eric, glaring up into Stan's face. "Like hell you won't." He hiccupped, swaying slightly on his feet. "Eric is __mine__-" __hic__ "-and you can't touch him."_

Stan and Isabel stared at him for a long second, and then exchanged glances.

"I told you I didn't steal your whiskey!" Isabel lamented.

_Stan walked away, muttering to himself as he put on his necessary black cowboy hat. "C'mon, Harry," he growled, and a black Lab followed him into the other room, tail nearly denting the door frame on its way out._

_Godric hiccupped so hard he nearly fell over, but luckily Eric and Isabel were there to catch him._

The thunder went off again, and lightning bolted 18.2706 times in rapid succession. A tornado danced erotically by the busted window before sinking into a puddle of quicksand.

Eric rolled his eyes, "Well, that was random." He held on to Godric's arm, straightening it and flapping the joint like a bird's wing.

"Stan's probably going to take Harry out for a walk," Isabel said, fluttering Godric's other arm. "I hope he dies."

"_So harsh," Eric commented (even though he secretly agreed with her). He pried Isabel's fingers off Godric's arm and picked him up bridal style. _

_Godric nestled his head against Eric's (very muscular) chest, still hiccupping. "See that Harry doesn't die, won't you?" he called to Isabel as Eric began carrying him down the hall to his bedroom. "Such an adorable dog…he reminds me of you." Godric smiled lopsidedly up at his boy._

"I remind you of a four-legged furry animal with fleas?" Eric asked. "That's flattering."

They reached the bedroom, and he laid Godric down on the mattress where no masochistic table legs could reach him. _But poor Godric's sense of security was destroyed when thunder bellowed again and Godric whimpered, clinging to Eric._

"_Hide under the covers with me." __Hic__. Godric upended the whiskey bottle and caught the last few drops with his tongue before placing the bottle on the nightstand, still upside-down. "There's never enough in one bottle –always too small," he slurred. "__Hic__." _

"Tell me about it." The entire world seemed too small to Eric, and that wasn't because he believed it revolved around him or anything. Everyone with half a brainstem knew Godric was the center of the universe. He joined Godric under the covers and took his clothes off at the same time because he had a talent for multitasking, and how the hell was he supposed to sleep if he wasn't nude?

_Godric regarded his child's body, tonguing his fangs almost thoughtfully. "Could you undress me too?" he whispered. __I think my hiccups are gone__. He looked up and down Eric's body again. __Yes__. __Definitely gone__. _

Eric smirked, "With pleasure." And then there were three piles of clothes on the floor, though neither of them had any idea who the firefighter outfit belonged to. "I thought you didn't like sleeping naked," Eric said. "Not that I'm complaining."

"_I generally don't," Godric admitted, feeling himself almost blush again as he resisted the urge to draw his knees up to his chest protectively, "but I wasn't really planning on sleeping." He rubbed the back of Eric's neck. "It's only one o'clock in the morning. Or thereabouts," he added._

Eric laughed. "You should sleep. You've been drinking, and I'd hate to take advantage of you…"

"_How could you take advantage of me when you know I'd want to have sex with you even if I were sober?" Godric licked the tip of Eric's nose again. "You're deliciously generous. I am __most__ grateful, believe me. Now let's play." He threw his leg over Eric's waist and kissed his Progeny deeply, saliva dripping onto the pillow as Godric moaned softly._

Eric could taste the whiskey on Godric's breath. The burn was sharp, and it reminded him of various battle celebrations with his men. He pulled Godric flush against him, surprised to realize he was the cooler one between them. "You're warm," he said, kissing Godric's jugular.

"_It's the drink," Godric said –and hiccupped again. "__Dammit__! Why won't they go away?" he moaned. "It's not __fair__!" He rolled over and buried his face in the drool-soaked pillow. "This is so –" __hic__ "-embarrassing. I'm s –" __hic__ "-o sorry." _

"You should be. I'm grossly offended," Eric replied with his best pissed-off-Viking expression.

_Godric turned his face to the side and peered at Eric with the one eye that wasn't on the side of his face that was against the pillow. "You –" __hic__ "-are not!" he giggled._

"Oh, I am." Eric snatched the pillow away from Godric's face and swatted him with it. "You swine."

"_Ouch!" Godric, arms protectively wrapped around his head, cowered on his side at the edge of the bed, dangerously close to falling off. "Why do you –" __hic__ "-abuse me with such –" __hic__ "-hateful words?" __I hate that I cry so messily__, Godric thought as blood welled in his eyes again._

"Because I like making little boys cry," Eric said. "Especially 2,000-year-old hiccupping ones."

"_But I'm your __Maker__!" Godric sobbed. "Do I have to command you to stop?" he asked, attempting to compose himself as he lifted his chin, still hiccupping as blood continued to roll down his cheeks. _

"Yes, I think you do," Eric swatted Godric with the pillow again. "I want to see if our bond is affected by your intoxication."

_Godric resisted the urge to slap the boy, because violence was EEEVAAL! and a counterproductive training tool. He took a deep breath and held it for five minutes, ensuring that his hiccups were indeed gone. _

"_You know what I think?" Godric asked, prying Eric's fingers from the pillow and taking one of his wrists in each hand, pressing the physically older being back onto the mattress. "__I__ think you're acting so bad because you're hungry. You could have asked Daddy to feed you, you know. __Or__ you could have simply taken what you wanted, since you __still__ haven't grown out of that 'People have to read my consistently blank face to know what I want' phase." Godric nicked his own tongue lightly with his fangs, waiting for the blood to well up before delicately inserting the not-as-muscular muscle into Eric's mouth._

Godric's blood spurted into Eric's mouth like the spontaneous combustion of the Hoover dam. It was so powerful…Eric could only hope his blood would shoot out of him that fast when he was Godric's age. He pulled back and swished the irony goodness through his teeth. Then he gargled with it until it started coagulating in his throat, at which point he swallowed with a husky sigh.

_Godric rolled his eyes. "__Now__ do you think you can behave yourself?" he asked, slowly removing his hands from Eric's wrists –but thunder sent him clinging to his Progeny again, whimpering and shaking so hard his teeth were chattering._

Eric used his newly-liberated wrists and the hands that were occasionally attached to them to pull Godric against him. He rubbed his back like Buddha's belly. "I can try."

_Godric's eyes closed as he sighed at the touch, allowing himself to relax completely, and emptied his thoughts –just like they'd taught Batman to clear his head, up in the Carpathian Mountains. It had been very cold there… but Godric was warm now. His thigh shifted against Eric's hip. Yes, Godric was very warm._

Eric continued to move his hands up and down the topography of Godric's back, making slow, circular patterns with his fingers and flexing his buff phalangeal muscles as he felt him relax. Eric had always been good with his hands. As a matter of fact, "If being a berserker didn't work out, I was planning on going into massage therapy."

"_That's interesting," Godric sighed, pressing up against the movements of Eric's fingers. He grinned suddenly, eyes still closed. "A thousand years ago you wouldn't have been caught dead –" he giggled at his own pun "-saying something like that even to me. It's an amazing thing, how I've molded you. Like a piece of clay." _

"You're a talented sculptor," Eric said, smiling back at him as his fingers slid down A Beautiful Spine. "You should put me up in a museum one day. I could be the second-coming of David, and make you famous."

_Godric snorted. "Thank you, but that's the exact reason why I turned down the whole 'king of Texas' business –I prefer to stay out of the limelight. It hurts my eyes, and can be quite sour at times." _

"But you deserve the position," Eric argued. "You would be the best king in all the New World, and everyone would honor you. It would be perfect."

"_I'm sorry to say the world just doesn't work that way, child." Godric smiled in a fatherly way up at Eric. "You see, if I __had__ become king of Texas, no one would let me have any privacy. And situations like this –" he stroked Eric's cheek "-not to mention my growing alcoholism, should in my view remain private. And society doesn't think like I do, unfortunately, because they live in one giant nest. And societal nests are __evil__. I on the other hand are exempt from such a category, because I am wise. And you don't live in a nest, so you're safe too." _

Eric traced what he knew to be the tail end of the serpent that Godric had been piggybacking for the last 20 centuries or more, and felt a sting of jealousy. He'd never carried Eric that long, even when he was wounded and dying. He paused for just a fraction of a second. Fondling his Maker's ass seemed so…I don't know… disrespectful. And Eric prided himself on being a Progeny of eternal obedience (that pillow-swatting incident five minutes ago didn't count) and angelic virtue. But that was just a bunch of crap he serenaded his reflection with in the evening. He continued his massage techniques as he pleased. "I almost started a nest once."

_Godric groaned softly and pressed against Eric at the touch, his eyelids flickering shut. "I'm assuming that went over well, considering your reputation for pissing people off the second they become too close to you. Although I was shocked when I heard a rumor that you don't like being touched." Godric reached up and tongued one of his own fangs at the thought. "I would never have imagined it, considering the present occurrences…"_

"Who told you?" Eric didn't like that his secret touch problem was being leaked all the way to Texas. He couldn't have some idiot barmaid from Fangtasia selling out his weaknesses across state lines. Even if it wasn't a secret or a problem.

"_I can't remember," Godric murmured truthfully. "I am, after all, an old man, and to expect me to remember every detail over the course of my twenty centuries is foolish. You're no spring chicken yourself," he pointed out, taking Eric's hand and stroking the back of it with his thumb soothingly. "You'll get used to being old in due time, believe me."_

"I like being old. Age is power," Eric said. And then he grinned, boasting his teeth. "And control. I haven't let my fangs down all night," he added proudly.

"_I noticed," Godric said (it was almost a pout). "You scared me half to life when you broke that window earlier, and I've been so…affected I haven't been able to retract them since." Suddenly he grinned wickedly and, gripping Eric's waist tighter with his thighs, leaned in until their foreheads were touching, stroking the back of Eric's neck as he did so. "But what if I wanted you to? Would you unleash them for me?" _

A deep, vampiric sound rolled out from the back of Eric's throat. He freed his fangs from where they were being held captive on the roof of his mouth, and peeled his lips back as they clicked into place. His eyes shone like the visual orbs of someone that was listening to "Eye of the Tiger" and "Father Figure" at the same time, and reaping joy from the process. "I would do anything if you wanted me to," he muttered, saturating the apparently heartfelt statement with dastardly implication. "You know that."

_Godric thought he felt his non-beating heart flutter at the sound of Eric's implication. He lowered his gaze to Eric's mouth and brushed their fangs together lightly…promisingly… The bond made a humming sound that as a crossbreed between the nest refrigerator, Isabel's cat when it was happy, and an ignited lightsaber. _

"_I __do__ know that," Godric breathed in a very Sarah Newlin-like way (though he had no idea who __that__ was) –only it was sexy instead of humorous. "That's why I chose you." He traced the gum line over one of Eric's fangs with the tip of his tongue, matching his gaze with his child's (like the card game) all the while. Yes, Godric was officially aroused now. He had thought it began to happen when Eric's fangs sprang downward like the eager puppies they were, but at his age it was sometimes hard to be sure… "I don't see how such loyalty doesn't exhaust you sometimes. But then again –" he applied stronger force with his fingers at a particular spot at the base of Eric's neck "-you are who you are." _

Close as they were, Eric was notified of Godric's officiality immediately. He made an uber-masculine "mmm" sound because the letter "m" had two humps that were inexplicably bonded together for all of eternity, and Eric had no idea what love was, but he liked to express his profoundly deep affection for his Maker between he sheets –er, lines. He was currently taking romance lessons from Bill Compton, the local Louisiana master of subtle self-expression, but he was not yet prepared to share his soulful ballads of passion.

So he did the second most romantic thing he could think of, and shoved his tongue halfway down Godric's throat, twisting the muscular and not-as-muscular muscles together until it was impossible to tell where the muscularness ended and the not-as-muscularness began. He let his teeth catch on the boy's lips. If it was fangs Godric wanted, it was fangs he would get.

"It would be degrading to be anyone else," he said after his tongue had had a thorough work out. He moved his body in a sensual manner against the officiality. "And I think it's safe to say you like me just he way I am."

"_Yes__," Godric moaned, feeling a pulse in places where it shouldn't be (including the center of his chest) as he closed his eyes with feeling, "I most certainly do." He rolled over onto his back, pulling Eric with him so that the current berserker was on top of him, and nipped Eric's ear lightly in a playful manner. _

"_On those rare occasions in which you do smile, you oughta do so with your fangs out –they enhance it, make it almost…" The term "metrosexual" had certainly existed in Godric's day, but he sadly wasn't as well-versed in Latin as he had been yesterday –last week even –and so he was forced to substitute it with "…masculinely pretty. Stan tries his hardest to accomplish this –he's had a 'secret crush' on Isabel since the day he took office –but, naturally, he has thus far failed immensely. There's still too much of that American ruggedness to him, you know?" _

Eric peered into Godric's eyes for a hot second, letting his amusement over Stan's 'secret crush' show on his face. He entertained the idea of pressing Godric for more details about his nestmates, certain that he could use the information to his advantage later. "As long as he doesn't have a crush on you…" he murmured, gaze sliding south in search of some place in Maker Land he'd neglected.

The chest was definitely worthy of consideration, but in the end Eric decided he was feeling as creative as the Magister and ran his mouth down Godric's arm. "But even if he did, he wouldn't have the balls to do anything about it. Americans are prudes." He pressed his lips against the crease of his Maker's elbow as he finished speaking.

_A soft sound of pleasure that was only audible to dogs and vampires escaped Godric's lips like a convict slipping out of prison. "I'm beginning to think they have a right to be," he murmured. "The Romans thought openly, and they abused that –some nights you could hear them from all the way across the tenement building." _

_Godric shuddered, suddenly gripping Eric's hand for support. "I don't understand how Miss Stackhouse puts up with it. I certainly couldn't –that's why I changed myself into a vampire. To get away from it all." He sighed. "But a thousand years of haunting Semataries by yourself gets pretty lonely. I'm lucky I found you when I did."_

_Godric averted his gaze, embarrassed. "To tell you the truth –and I promised always to be truthful to you, remember? –I was saving myself more than I was saving you. I wanted someone who thought openly but could be easily trained to contain said thoughts if need be. I've always been selfish." _

_Godric closed his eyes, a thin trickle of blood skittering down each cheek as he whispered, "I'm a terrible Maker." _

**"I don't see the danger in treating reviewers as equals."**_  
_


	3. Dead Things Don't Beep

**A/N: When it comes to True Blood, we are penniless bums. Standing by an open fire, and writing crack in the slums. With nothing to our names, and no credit to be claimed, you'd think we were insane. But those are just the rules of the game. So now we pick up, continuing on with Godric and his hiccups...**

_Italicized text _**by Mary**

Regular **by Ann**

Eric's attention was snatched away from the arm at hand by Godric's completely idiotic whisper. It was probably the first stupid thing he'd ever heard his Maker say (and the second would be "2,000 years is enough," but Eric wasn't supposed to think about that scene in this story).

"Of all the –" His Berserkerness started. And then he saw the blood tears, shook an imaginary Gabe, and shut up.

No. It couldn't be. Not here, not now… And yet there it was, like red on black: Emotion. Cursed, disgusting, weak emotion leaking off Godric's face. Eric was frozen in horror. It was his worst daymare come true. But he was naked in bed with a person who had two legs, and if he ran away screaming he might miss out on awesome sekks (and Odin would frown upon his pansiness). So he took a page out of Godric's Holy Book, and licked the blood off the boy's cheeks.

"No you're not. If you were a terrible Maker, I would be a terrible vampire." Eric pretended to flip his hair, parodying himself without shame. "And we both know I'm the most amazing undead murderer ever to grace the face of the Earth."

_Godric laughed so hard he nearly started hiccupping again. _

"_That you are," he wheezed, and the expression on Eric's face shook him into gales of laughter so violent he snorted when he finally inhaled. Godric clapped both hands over his mouth, giggling shrilly. "Remind me to crawl under a rock the next time I get drunk, he choked out, "so not even the Harry Potter books can mock me." _

_Godric gasped for air. "I'm so sorry." He grinned at what he must look like –a two-thousand-year-old fifteen-year-old boy rolling around on the mattress and squealing like a three-hundred-year-old four-year-old baby deer. _

"_That's pretty bad," Godric said when he finally hadn't regained control of himself. "Half of my short life with you and I just now recall that you're the funniest…__anything__ that I've ever met." He shook his head in wonderment, trails of his child's spit dripping from his chin. "Dude, my memory __sucks__." _

_Then the ridiculously-aged boy's smile tripped and almost fell as he regarded Eric anxiously. (This was a word beginning with the dreaded vowel "a", which he always switched with the dastardly "e" and vice-versa in pronunciation because wherever he went speech therapists cowered in fear at the thought of the centuries it would take to coach multiple-thousand-year-olds. May the shortening of his name damn them!)_

"_Is it okay if I use the age excuse for that again?"_

"Yas, it is okey if you use tha ege axcuse for thet egein," Eric said, snickering himself. He couldn't tell if he was laughing at Godric or with him, catching the sudden giddiness through their bond.

He sought out Pam's cold-hearted boredom (just like he taught her) in his schizophrenic Maker/Progeny brain and took it like a splash of Novocain to the face. Eric lifted the end of the already-drool-soaked pillowcase and wiped his Viking mouth juices off Godric's chin. His expression flat lined like it should, because dead things didn't make beeping noises when you hooked them up to hospital machines, and he was rescued from feeling once again.

It wasn't until then that he realized the booming, TNT explosions he was hearing were in fact booming, TNT explosions, probably being set off by Stan in the parlor and not even a distant cousin of thunder.

"Storm's gone," he mumbled robotically.

"_Thank Mars for that," Godric sighed. He lifted his arms over his head and stretched; joints popped in several places, sounding like the grinding noise Tru Blood caps made when you spun them on their sides like wheels. It was a very awkward sound, and Godric had to bite his lip to keep from hiccupping again. He folded his arms behind his head and leaned back against a clean pillow (which had just appeared out of thin air), allowing his gaze to travel up Eric's body._

_Godric had truly sculpted the definition of perfection. Clay blocks (Eric's abdominal muscles particularly resembled these) composing a nonliving thing that –wait. How could Godric really be sure that Eric was dead? A thousand years wasn't nearly enough time to be sure –particularly when Godric was certain that, just for a second, he had seen a beating heart that Eric may or may not have had at some point. _

_It was black and red like a checkerboard, and glowing with an inner blue light that almost made it yellow. (A color which did not suit Eric at all –perhaps it was infected? __Eww__.) But then Godric blinked and it was gone. He muttered, "I'm too old for this shit." _

_Shocked (in a pleasant way) with a sudden idea, Godric threw one leg over Eric's waist again and held his baby bear. "Could you breathe for Daddy?" he inquired innocently, his lips millimeters from Eric's. "I want to feel how __strong__ you are." _

Eric raised his brow. Godric had asked him to do a lot of random tasks in order to measure his strength over the centuries, but they never had anything to do with breathing. Breathing was for humans. But Godric was his Maker… Eric filled his lungs obligingly, exhaled the chest load into Godric face, and repeated steps one thru two repetitively, becoming increasingly aware of the leg around his waist with each skeptical pull of invisible gas.

_Godric closed his eyes. The feeling of Eric's muscles pressing against him caused him to moan, and flutters of disappointment racked him when it was taken away with each exhale._

Eric watched Godric closed his eyes, and felt a flare of terror that he completely denied feeling. His strength was the central core of his entire personality. He made bets on it. "Am –" he inhaled, "I –" he exhaled, "passing?"

He inhaled again.

"_Shut up," Godric groaned. "You're ruining it." He ran his tongue slowly up Eric's neck, moaning again as Eric's newly erect veins pressed up against it. "You taste…__wonderful__. What have you been eating lately?" _

"You," Eric said, voice straining with his veins. The tension shot from his neck down his chest as his blood pressure skyrocketed in a magical way that would fill his teacher Bill with life.

"_But that's cannibalism." Godric shook his head in disappointment. "I thought I'd taught you better." He grinned suddenly. "But we're blood-related anyway. Maker…" He frowned in thought for a moment, then grinned again, shrugging. "You know what it is." _

"Sometimes." Eric traveled the massive amount of millimeters between their faces, kissing Godric like a hungry, sex-crazed Maenad zombie. "It's hard to fit in the dictionary."

"_I probably couldn't read it anyway." Godric, still reeling from the kiss, bit his lip in embarrassment, and winced as blood began to trickle down his chin. "One of these days you're going to teach me to write in English." He couldn't believe he was saying this. "Hieroglyphics are a thing of the past." _

Eric lifted his brow again, and then he laughed. "You're totally wasted. I hope you know I'm going to hold you to that, though." His attractively lumpy arms wound around Godric, returning Death's sweet embrace. He held him as tightly as every ounce of his thousand-year-old-Viking-vampire strength would allow because he was still feeling insecure about his muscular capabilities. Plus Godric was twice his age, so he was powerful enough to handle Eric's undiluted affection.

"Anything you say under the influence can and will be used against you in the court of Eric." His eyes followed the blood dribbling down Godric's chin. "But you do have the right to remain silent."

His mouth swooped in and caught his Maker's bleeding lip, closing it between both of his and sucking it like a thirsty man inside the flashflood that accidentally killed Sookie's parents. Eric never told anybody, but he secretly had kinky bondage sex with both of them 20 minutes before they died. It was his most treasured memory.

_Godric heard something crack and whimpered in pain. He untangled himself from Eric and re-set his elbow. "Your embrace is dear to me, child, but I don't like it when it hurts. It's too painful." _

Eric jolted away from Godric immediately, furious with himself. He climbed off the bed and thought of ways to kill himself. He hurt Godric. He must die. Then he realized he was being overdramatic, and sat back down on the bed. He was excited to report his emotional progress to Bill. "Forgive me, Godric. I didn't mean to break you."

"_Of course, my child," Godric murmured, cradling Eric's head to his chest as he pulled the Viking down on top of him once more. He stroked Eric's hair, entertaining the fantasies bopping in his head that had been brought on by the feel of Eric's rough cheek against his own ever-soft (was that a brand of shampoo?) skin. He grinned._

"_You know, this is one of the most awkward positions I've ever been in. Seeing as taking you from behind didn't work so well, I'd say this one's a keeper." _

**"Could you be a reviewer of Death?" **


End file.
